Tonight, with the great table groaning under gold-rimmed platters and rare wines, Sarisa felt even more like a trapped creature.
She tried to focus on the sparkle of candlelight, the laughter of children, the gentle hum of polite conversation.
She tried not to think about the secret ache between her legs, or the memory of Lara's mouth, Lara's hands, Lara's heat.
It didn't work.
She could still feel the ghost of that touch, the way Lara's rough hands had steadied her hips, the echo of her own moans swallowed by velvet and shadows.
She tried to sit straighter, to look the future queen, but every shift of her body made her pulse stutter. If anyone noticed her flushed cheeks or the way she couldn't quite meet Lara's eyes, no one said a word.
Vaelen was seated to her right, as always, playing the role of dutiful fiancé. He looked handsome, immaculate as ever in Celestian formalwear, his blue hair perfectly arranged, his brown skin radiant in the candlelight.
He offered her a shy smile as he reached for his wineglass, but Sarisa could only nod in return, distracted.
On her left, Aliyah and Kaelith had already started their dinner with a kind of demonic efficiency—forks and knives moving at a speed that threatened the palace china.
Malvoria, dignified and unbothered, murmured something to Elysia, who replied with a faint smile and a warning look toward the children.
Elysia's bracelet—Sarisa's own handiwork—glimmered in the light, a silent reminder of all the lines recently crossed.
Sarisa's own wrist was bare tonight, her secret tucked into her pocket. She'd meant to give Lara her bracelet after dinner, in some quiet corridor where words could be whispered without fear of being overheard.
Now, she wasn't so sure. The world felt off-kilter, as if she were walking a tightrope above a chasm no one else could see.
The queen sat at the head of the table, regally surveying her court.
The conversation had drifted to the usual: plans for the summer festival, the ongoing negotiations with the Southern Islands, the latest scandal involving one of the lesser nobles' sons. Sarisa did her best to look attentive, but her thoughts refused to obey.
She wanted to reach for Lara, to brush her knee beneath the table, to lean close and whisper a joke, a memory, a promise.
But Lara was two seats away, perfectly composed in her crisp uniform, playing her part as the stoic, unassailable bodyguard.
No one else in the room could have guessed what they'd done only an hour before, or how Sarisa's mind kept replaying every second.
It was torture. Delicious, forbidden torture.
Vaelen leaned over, voice low. "Are you alright? You seem…distracted."
Sarisa forced a smile. "Just a long day. So much paperwork, you know how it is."
Vaelen chuckled, gentle and guileless. "If you ever need help, I'm always willing. You don't have to carry everything yourself."
The kindness in his eyes twisted something inside her—gratitude, guilt, and something colder, darker. Vaelen was safe. He was good. But she didn't want safe. Not anymore.
Kaelith and Aliyah were arguing over a bread roll, their voices carrying even above the polite clatter of silverware.
Kaelith's hands were already glowing with the faintest hint of violet fire, but Malvoria's warning gaze made her think better of using it. Aliyah, undeterred, stuck out her tongue, victorious as she claimed the last roll.
Lara, watching from her place, caught Sarisa's gaze for a heartbeat—long enough to make her forget how to breathe.
There was a challenge in that look, a private dare, and Sarisa had to look away before she did something reckless, like climb across the table.
Dinner wore on, courses arriving and vanishing like ghosts. Vaelen made conversation with Elysia, Malvoria traded barbs with the queen, and the children—well, the children were chaos incarnate, but they were also the only honest ones in the room.
Then, as the plates were being cleared, the queen set down her goblet and addressed the table.
"We've discussed it at length," she said, her voice clear and carrying, "and we have decided to set a date for the wedding. Three months from today, on the night of the Harvest Moon."
There was a ripple of polite applause, some murmured congratulations. Vaelen turned to Sarisa, his smile wide and nervous.
"Three months," he echoed, as if it were a blessing.
Sarisa managed not to flinch. Three months. It felt like a death sentence. Or an ultimatum.
She nodded, unable to trust her voice. There was no point protesting—not here, not now, not in front of the whole court. She caught Lara's eye again, searching for something—comfort, perhaps, or defiance.
But Lara was inscrutable, her face a mask.
The meal resumed, though for Sarisa, every bite tasted of ash. She tried to make conversation, to smile for the children, to play her part as the dutiful daughter and future queen.
But her mind kept slipping back to Lara, to the heat they'd made, to the way Lara's scent clung to her skin.
She could still feel it now, layered with her own. It was dizzying.
And apparently, she wasn't the only one who noticed.
Aliyah, who had finished her meal in record time and was now climbing into Sarisa's lap, sniffed the air and frowned. "Mom, why do you smell like Lara?"
The entire table froze. For a moment, it felt as if even the walls were listening.
Malvoria raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with mischief, but said nothing. Elysia hid her mouth behind her napkin, pretending to cough.
Kaelith, never one to miss a beat, leaned over, nose twitching. "Yeah, you smell like Lara. And a little bit like fire."
Sarisa's cheeks went crimson. She shot a desperate look at Lara, but her bodyguard-turned-lover seemed to be suddenly, deeply interested in her wine.
Vaelen blinked, clearly confused. "I'm sure that's just because Lara is always around, right? Aliyah, you're so silly."
Aliyah ignored him, her red eyes wide and guileless. "No, it's not that. It's different. It's like when Kaelith's mamas hug a lot and they smell like each other after."
Kaelith nodded solemnly, adding, "That's true. When Mommy and Mama snuggle, their scents mix. It's science."
Elysia's shoulders were shaking, her laughter barely contained. Malvoria's lips curled in a lazy, dangerous smile.
The queen cleared her throat, tone frosty. "That's enough, children. Let the adults talk."
But the damage was done. Sarisa could feel the heat creeping up her neck, the pulse beating wildly in her wrists. Under the table, she squeezed Aliyah's hand, hoping the child would move on to another topic. But Aliyah just gazed up at her, all innocence.
"You and Lara should snuggle more," she whispered, conspiratorial. "It makes you happy."
Malvoria's laughter finally broke free, rich and ringing, and even Elysia let out a soft, delighted giggle.
The tension at the table splintered—some of it dissolving into amusement, some of it hardening into something else.
Sarisa felt the weight of her mother's gaze, icy and assessing. She met Lara's eyes one last time, and this time there was no hiding, no mask, just a flash of shared, helpless, exhilarating truth.
She didn't know what would happen next. She didn't know if she could stop what was coming—her own desire, the wedding, the impossible choices waiting for her just beyond the reach of candlelight.